


Dreams Like These

by secondhandact



Category: Homestuck
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, bless their little souls, very silly virgins don't know what foreplay really is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5472386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondhandact/pseuds/secondhandact
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><span class="u"><b>NOTE</b></span>: <i>there is sex here.</i> For those of you who are not all about sexytimes, I've denoted it with page breaks so you can go ahead and skip that part, if you'd like! </p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Dreams Like These

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plushrumpx (TwinklePark)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinklePark/gifts).



> **NOTE** : _there is sex here._ For those of you who are not all about sexytimes, I've denoted it with page breaks so you can go ahead and skip that part, if you'd like! 
> 
> Enjoy!

When you open your eyes, he’s sitting at the end of your bed, grinning at you for all the world like this is a completely normal, standard thing for him to be doing. Like your room is exactly where Jake English belongs, despite the fact that there’s nothing but ocean for thousands of miles beyond your room. (An ocean that you know filled with hundreds of monsters that brush against the concrete walls of your dwelling with only the barest restraint keeping them from lunging through your windows. You know it like you know the surface of the sun is shimmering with heat—you don’t have to _see_ it up close to know it exists.) He sits there like crossing this aforementioned sea of unbridled death was a simple task. 

Maybe, for someone like Jake English, it was. 

He certainly looked like he thought so: the grin on his face is self-satisfied, and he offers you a tiny wave, fingers drumming through the open air. “Surprised, Strider?”

You shove yourself into a sitting position, suddenly extremely conscious of the fact that the only thing on your lean frame is an old, grease-smeared wifebeater. He probably thinks you would’ve spent the night before tinkering with Sawtooth, or something. A strange conclusion to draw, you think, considering there’s not a single scrap of metal visible in the small square of space containing your bed. Whatever. You aren’t about to correct whatever wrong assumptions are drifting around in his skull. The fact that you want to is surprising, but you vow not to think about it. “I guess,” you answer, touching your face to determine whether or not the film over your vision is bad light or shades. It’s the latter, and you are so damn grateful for that.

“Good!” He looks around, nodding to himself. “I thought it was about time I showed my gams around your pad. You know, it looks exactly like I thought it would.” He pauses, brows knitting. “Expecting more weapons, I suppose. Didn’t you say this place is dangerous?” 

Your gaze darts to the swords gathered in the corner beside your bed, and the structure shudders as one of the unseen beasts living in the waters outside your window shoves itself against it. “Not all the time,” you say quickly. The shudders die away, and you fall silent until the waves visible out your window are no longer split by a large, black fin. “They tend to only bother me when it’s convenient for them. Which is not when I’m awake.” Blearily, you scrub at the corners of your eyes. “What are you _doing_ here?”

“Oh, you know, just catching up. You know, it’s just been too long of a moment since we just sat around, and, you know, just had a bit of a bull session, and I just miss it.” All of the nervousness he has when you’re texting goes away when you’re looking him in the eye, and his gaze drops down to the top of your blankets. “Or we could entertain ourselves...a different way.”

You’re uncomfortably aware that you did, in fact, just wake up. 

Just because he’s no longer nervous doesn’t mean he’s any more suave. Groaning, you scrub your face with your hands, rubbing at your temples under your shades. “You are about as subtle as a chainsaw through butter. I’ve met pelicans with more grace than you.”

There’s a soft scoffing sound, and the bedsprings squeak when his weight shifts the bed. You’re still trying to remember if they’ve ever done that before when he kisses you, and that ends all conversation for quite some time.

* * *

When you open your eyes, Jake’s glasses are close enough that you can name all the different shades of green in his iris. “I think the time for being subtle has, perhaps, gone the way of the dodo.” That grin hasn’t quite diminished, and his hand drops between your legs. You stiffen, near-flinching, which is obviously what he wants you to do; he settles back at your side, sitting on his heels. “Besides, you can’t tell me you don’t want this.”

His hand isn’t staying still, and your reactions aren’t making it any easier to talk. “If this is what you want.” You’re aware that your voice is huskier, that you’re breathless. For however your first time was going to go, you definitely weren’t expecting that, and you swallow. “Then I am definitely more than a little down.”

A small sigh escapes him, and he tugs at the blankets rumpled around your hips until the cold air of the room hits your skin. There’s only a thin sheet between him and you, and he rests his hand at the base of your dick. “That makes two of us, I believe.” His hand slides up then right back down, and the way the fabric moves against your skin has goosebumps spreading over your shoulders. 

You can’t take your eyes off his hand, and the way it looks moving against the sheet, and the way it feels is slowly overtaking all your thoughts. He’s the only person to ever touch you (you always knew it would be that way) which makes it harder to keep calm, and sooner than you would have liked you catch yourself clenching at the sheet, your head bowed over your splayed legs. “F-fuck.”

By the time he lets you go, there’s a wet spot where the sheet is clinging to the head of your shaft, and you’re struggling to catch your breath. “How far do you want to go?” He asks in a hushed whisper, unfastening his pants as he watches your face.

Your lips are dry, and you wet them, looking up at him. Not for the first time, your heart nearly stops as you study Jake English. There’s not names for the ways he makes you feel and the idea of stopping is so suddenly, utterly beyond you. “I think you know,” you answer, and when he rises to his knees and bumps his cock against your lips, you open your mouth without hesitation, and you don’t even gag when he shoves himself down your throat. The sensation of him in your mouth makes you ache, and you slide your hands up his backside, pulling him against you and nearly throwing him off-balance.

It doesn’t take long for him to curl his fingers through your hair, and now it’s Jake panting, rocking his head back as you work yourself against his shaft. By the time you’re used to his weight against your lips, he’s got both hands buried in your hair, and he’s near-moaning. Now it’s you who’s pleased, and you release him, gulping for air as he shakily sinks to his knees. 

Before, you were nervous. Now, you can’t think of anything but how badly you want him. Fortunately, he seems even less desiring of speech than you, and as he pitches you onto your back and strips the sheet away, you steal clumsy kisses from him and let your hands wander over him, touching him wherever you can reach. When he shifts to wrestle his pants the rest of the way off, you make a small sound of frustration. “It’s in the drawer,” you tell him. Clarification clearly isn’t needed, because the small bottle is in his hand in less than a second. (Not wasting any time, is he?) It’s cold when it hits your skin, but you were expecting that, and when his finger probes into you, you shudder. 

“You make a pretty picture, Dirk,” he tells you, the head of his cock bumping against your entrance. 

“I don’t give a fuck,” you answer, and when he presses into you, you find yourself very quickly without the ability for coherent thought.

The rock of his hips seems miniscule, but it makes everything in you move, and you shove your hands through your hair, not bothering to restrain yourself. You don’t know if he told you to or whether you just couldn’t stand it anymore but in seconds your hand is between your legs, and you’re jacking yourself to the rhythm he’s set. You aren’t going to last long, and you don’t know if you tell him, but he picks up the pace anyway, his grunts intermingling with the steadily increasing sounds of your moans, both of you cursing every other noise.

You hit your peak before he does, and you do so with a cry, one that echoes on far longer than it should have until he answers you by pulling out and spending himself in thick, white ropes across your stomach. You’re a mess, and you fall back against the bed, exhausted. He likes you a mess. You know he does, even though this is the first time you remember having done anything so intimate with Jake English.

* * *

You always know what he wants.

Even as he sprawls beside you, you know exactly how he wants you to tuck against his side (and you do) and it’s easy to imagine how your blond hair looks against the dark skin of his chest, and as he rests an arm around you, you close your eyes. It’s rare that you close your eyes while you’re with Jake, but this time, you think you’ve earned it. 

You keep your eyes closed, even as he whispers a goodnight in your ear and the room around you dissolves into nothing. This time, you hold on a bit longer than you normally would, lost in wonderment about the aftereffects that are still humming through you. you luxuriate in the soreness spreading through your muscles, and wonder if you’re going to feel that later, or even remember it at all. For once, you find yourself hoping against hope that you do. Even if he takes everything else away from you, you want to hold on to this. 

You don’t often get to exist outside the confines of Jake English’s skull, but now, you think you might be able to all on your own. You’ve still got your shape, after all, and he’s no longer thinking about you. It’s been happening more and more often lately, and you're pretty sure Jake doesn't even realize it. You don’t ever ask him about the Dirk you’re based on, the real person somewhere-out-there that inspired your very existence. To ask about him would be to question the reality Jake creates for the two of you in his dreams, and you’ve decided you like it, even if some of his decisions make no sense to you. Honestly, an ocean full of deadly creatures that nobody’s ever seen? Fire that comes from the sky? The concepts of the world he perceives are sometimes ridiculous. 

You don’t care, of course. You love him. All of him. That’s what you’re _for_.

You wonder if the real Dirk could have been as perfect for Jake. You wonder just how different you are from him, whether you do everything right. Knowing what Jake thinks he wants isn’t always helpful. What someone wants and what they actually expect is often very different, and you don’t like the shadow that comes over his face whenever you don’t react the way other-you would have. 

You wonder if perfect is really what Jake wants. You don’t think so. You haven’t thought so in a long time, but you’ve always kept your thoughts privately to yourself. He may be able to suggest what you want to do and shape the entirety of the world around you, but he’s yet to be able to actually read your thoughts. It probably has something to do with the fact that he doesn’t seem quite aware that he’s made you damn near _real_. At least, as real as someone who exists outside of space and time and completely occupies the imagined area where dreams come from can get. 

There’s horrorterrors just beyond your senses that you’re becoming more aware of as the days go by, and—not for the first time—you wish that there was some way you could become physical, solid, _Real,_ capital letters and all. Then maybe Jake would stop getting his heart all bent out of shape by some guy who looks like you but is definitely not you. If you existed anywhere outside of his dreams, maybe you could stop doing everything that he wants.

Then, maybe you could try to be what he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, when I realized what I would be doing for this assignment, I nearly bounced out of my seat. I like BG!Dirk. I really, really do.


End file.
